by Raymond Bean
“I read that you had some help inventing Sweet Farts. Can you tell me a little about that?”
“Sure. I was approached by a scientist named Mr. Gonzalez. He has a laboratory here in New York. He and his scientists helped me experiment and find the cure for bad fart smell.”
“Do you still talk with Mr. Gonzalez?”
“Sure, he even helped me set up my own company. My friends and I have a space in his laboratory complex for our experiments. As a matter of fact, I am meeting with him today after the interviews.”
Scott and Anthony had tilted their heads to the side and closed their eyes, pretending to be asleep. Thanks, I thought. I’m working hard doing these interviews and all they do is make fun of me. The woman on the other end of the line asked me a few more questions before saying goodbye. That wasn’t so bad, I thought, taking the headset off.
“That was great, Keith,” Anne said. “You seemed really comfortable. Only, try not to pay attention to your friends. They appear to be a distraction for you.”
“That’s nothing new. They are always a distraction for me. It’s what they do,” I replied.
Anne connected the next call. From there on it was a blur—one interview after another. All the reporters asked pretty much the same questions—“Why did you invent Sweet Farts? How did you do it?”—and they all thanked me for fixing the smell of farts. I guess farts are a problem wherever.
I was feeling pretty good about myself as I started the last interview. A man from Japan was on the line, and he asked the usual questions. Then he asked me a question that took me by surprise. “So, the BIG question now is, what will your next amazing invention be, Mr. Silent But Deadly?”
“I…umm, well,” I started. The problem was that I had been thinking of about a million different ideas and really had no clear plan for my next experiment. I was kind of stumbling around for an answer, and then it happened.
Anthony opened the door to the interview room and stuck his head in. “Keith, don’t worry. We’re not going to call you S.B.D. anymore,” he said through his laughter.
“Close that door, please. We’re in an interview in here,” Anne scolded.
“Sorry, I just wanted to tell Keith that we aren’t going to call him Sweet Farts either,” Anthony added.
“Okay, thanks, but this isn’t really a good time, you know, Anthony!” I pointed to my headphones.
“Sorry—just wanted to let you know your new nickname from this day forth is officially Farts.” Then he whispered, “Good luck with the interview, Farts.”
I thought I was going to fall out of my seat. “Did someone just say that your nickname is now Farts?” the man from Japan asked, obviously overhearing Anthony.
“Yes,” I said, defeated. Through the glass I could see Anthony and Scott both holding up handwritten signs that read Hi, Farts. They were cracking up and pointing at me. “Yep,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief, “it looks like they call me Farts.”
CHAPTER 2
Seven Weeks
As I walked out of the radio station I felt numb. Here I was more than a full year after inventing Sweet Farts, an invention I’d made so I didn’t have to deal with the nickname S.B.D. (Silent But Deadly) anymore, and I was in an even worse situation. I was suddenly Farts Emerson! To make matters worse, I had to come up with some kind of new amazing invention before the next science fair. My heart was racing and my palms were sweating all over again. I could see that Anthony and Scott were talking to me as we walked, but I couldn’t hear a word they said. I was officially freaking out!
The limousine that had driven us to the radio station was outside, waiting. The driver jumped out to open the door when he saw us coming.
“How did it go?” Mr. Gonzalez asked from inside the limo as he hung up his phone, tucking it into the inside pocket of his business suit. He was sitting across from me, his back to the driver. Anthony and Scott jumped in and sat on either side of me.
“Pretty bad,” Anthony blurted out. “Farts here kind of dropped the ball.”
“First of all, don’t call me Farts,” I said. “Second of all, I was doing pretty good in there until you came bursting into the room and announced that you were going to call me Farts. The guy from Japan heard that, you know.”
“Guys!” Mr. Gonzalez interrupted. “You really need to stop acting like goofballs and start taking this more seriously. You’ve had plenty of time to work on your next science-fair project, and I still haven’t heard what you guys are planning to do.”
“I’ll figure it out,” I said. “I could really use a little help from you or one of your scientists, though. I am only ten years old, you know.”
“Keith,” he began, “we went over this already. I gave you the space at my lab for you to continue your scientific experimentation on your own. You have the help of the scientists at the lab if you need it, but the idea must come from you.”
“I’m not so sure I can come up with another amazing invention,” I admitted. There, I had said it. The cat was out of the bag. I was not cut out for this kind of pressure. There was no way I was going to be able to come up with something as amazing as Sweet Farts. So why even try?
“Well, you are going to have to try, because you are scheduled to appear on The Helen Winifred Show the night of the science fair to talk about your next experiment.”
“Why did you schedule that? I can’t go on national TV. I’ll make a fool of myself. I’ll be a laughingstock. I can’t do this!” I said, feeling the panic rise inside me.
“Well, you had better get busy and figure it out then, because the science fair is in exactly two months. I’m leaving tonight for a seven-week dig in Africa, and will be unreachable, but you have the full support of the lab and the scientists. You just have to explain to them what your idea is, and they will help. You also have the support of these two.” He pointed to Scott and Anthony, rolling his eyes. I turned to my left and saw that Scott had his earphones on, since he was playing Jezula’s Last Stand on his mobile game system. When I turned to my right, I saw that Anthony was completely asleep. His head was tilted all the way back, and there was a little bit of drool running down his lower lip toward his chin. I closed my eyes and put my head in my hands.
“Well, you’re home,” Mr. Gonzalez informed me. “I suggest you get that scientific mind of yours in motion. The clock is ticking. See you in seven weeks. I’ll drop Video Boy and Sleeping Beauty off at their houses on my way to the airport. Good luck, and tell your parents I said hi.”
The driver got out and opened the door for me. It was raining really hard.
Scott stopped playing for a minute and looked up at me. “What did I miss? Where are we? When did it start raining so hard?”
“You seriously didn’t hear any of that conversation the entire way home?” I asked.
“No, I was running from Jezula. Why? Was it important?”
I looked at Mr. Gonzalez in disbelief.
“You wanted to hire these guys,” he reminded me. “I’ll see you in seven weeks.”